


You Best Jump Far

by quirkysubject



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Angry Sex, BDSM, Brothels, Captain Brian May, Discipline, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Euphemisms, Forced Prostitution, Guilt, Guilty Pleasures, Hypocrisy, Lingerie, M/M, Necklace Kink, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Non-Negotiated Kink, Prostitute Roger Taylor, Punishment, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery, Spanking, Switching, Vaguely Sci-Fi AU, Violent Sexual Imagery, assume STIs aren't a thing in this world, this is all not very nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24196072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/pseuds/quirkysubject
Summary: As a guest of honour at Ivory House, Brian is free to do whatever he likes.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 26
Kudos: 64
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	You Best Jump Far

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt: Sex Slave**
> 
> See endnotes for pics of some of the accoutrement used in this fic.
> 
> The "Rape/Non-Con"-warning is for the way the world in this AU works in general.
> 
> Special thanks to tikini for brainstorming ideas with me - I ended up writing something very different, but your enthusiasm made me go through with it 😘

The room is like something out of an expensive, exotic dream. It’s so far removed from his cramped, utilitarian Captain’s quarters or the hastily erected barracks near the front lines that it’s hard to believe they belong to the same world.

There is carved wood and velvet upholstery, mosaic floors and silken tapestries, silver platters overflowing with fresh fruit and golden goblets filled with the finest wines. He could spend hours just looking at all that splendour, running his fingers over warm, dark mahogany and velvet curtains. The fabric of the divan he is sitting on is so smooth and fine, Brian feels coarse and dull compared to it, despite the fine set of clothes he put on before he got here. The stain of war doesn’t wash off so easily.

“No wish shall go unfulfilled for London’s saviours”. Madam Cavall’s smooth voice is laden with dark promise as she refills his cup. She is kneeling next to him on the divan, her body angled towards him just close enough that he can smell the scented oils in her hair. “Yet you still sit alone. Have we nothing to your liking on offer?”

The bright tinkle of jewellery draws his eyes to her delicate gold necklace. His gaze follows down the plunging neckline of her dress into the shadowy valley between her breasts, where the necklace ends in a simple pendant with one large diamond set in the middle.

A wave of heat rolls through his cheeks as his eyes snap back up.

He is met by a soft, indulgent smile. “Relax, Captain. Look all you want. Tonight is all about you.”

He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, trying to follow her orders. His feet ache in his brand new leather brogues. He wishes he had the nerve to just take them off. As a guest of honour at the Ivory House, he is free to do whatever he likes, of course, but he feels like there are so many unwritten rules he doesn’t know, so many expectations to fulfil.

He never set foot inside a place like before and he can’t help but worry that he’s going to make a fool of himself. He doesn’t even know if the Madam herself is _available_ or if the insinuation would be a grave insult. He really should have asked one of his team before they came here, but he had no idea how to broach the subject. Let him sit at his desk and review strategy, that is where he excels. Not this.

He takes a sip of his wine and lets his gaze wander through the room. There are about two dozen hosts and hostesses for the six of them, young men and women of different types and in different costumes, all of them exceptionally beautiful in their own ways. There is a wispy little sprite of a man next to a muscular Adonis; a girl whose curves threaten to escape the confines of her dress anytime she moves and another one tall and angular like a mannequin. Each looks like they’ve been transported here from a different time and place: There are Roman togas and Roaring Twenties head-dresses, flowing kimonos and tight corsages, leather straps and harem pants.

The rest of his team doesn’t share his hesitance. Crystal is simply enjoying the view and the candied fruit, appearing perfectly at ease as he lounges on his recliner. Dom is sitting in a heap of cushions, methodically ruining the elaborate hairdo of a plump girl with the purest porcelain complexion Brian has ever seen, and John looks only half-conscious while receiving a foot massage from an Egyptian princess. Brian’s flexes his toes and wonders how he could go about getting one too. Freddie on the other hand is… Brian quickly looks away. Freddie is hopefully going to get himself a room soon.

They have been to these places before. Brian always found an excuse not to go. He always thought of brothels ( _guest houses_ , as they are officially called, but Brian doesn’t see the need for euphemism) as a necessary evil, something that in a perfect world wouldn’t exist, and he thought that the people who worked in them were to be pitied. There certainly shouldn’t be a state-sanctioned _system_ to organize it, and the rhetoric of it being for the greater good and the benefit of all had always sounded hollow.

Of course, every host has chosen to be here, but what do words like “choice” and “free” mean for people whose choice is between this and freezing to death in the trenches of Kainuu? On the other hand, if places like this didn’t exist, _all_ of them would be in the trenches or the mines or in the unregulated world of private household “attendants”.

The entire system just seems wrong. And yet he is fighting for it every day, because the alternative... He shudders as he remembers the days of rebellion and civil war. The alternative is unthinkable. So he keeps his thoughts to himself and chooses simply not to participate.

But tonight, the general himself invited him along, an honour that – as Brian had been given to understand very clearly – he is not at liberty to decline.

While he’s brooding, Brian’s eyes land on a figure at a table at the far end of the room. Blond hair and a white button-up shirt just reaching down to the tops of his bare legs invite his gaze to linger. The man is arranging bowls and cups on a silver tray, and when he stretches to retrieve something from a shelf, the shirt rides up.

Brian’s mouth falls open and he leans forward to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. The man’s bottom is on perfect display and he’s wearing nothing but tight white pants with golden wings stretching out to each side. Brian can see his hands fitting there perfectly, the supple weight in his palms while his thumbs run along the curve of the wings.

He forces his eyes away, reminding himself sharply where he is. He takes another sip of wine and turns his head back to his hostess, but she must have got up while he was distracted. He can’t blame her for giving up on him.

When he turns his attention back to the room, the blond man has moved on, but Brian doesn’t have to search long for him. He weaves his way through the room, carrying the tray in one hand and offering it to guests left and right. His movements are graceful, efficient. He swerves around an exotic dancer, turns, and that’s when Brian gets the first good look at his face. Big eyes, a bold bow of a mouth, and a cute curved nose. A faint sheen of sweat is setting his features aglow.

His path is meandering, but Brian realises with mounting panic that he's moving ever closer. The man’s bare feet are half-buried in the plush carpets with every step.

Brian’s throat is dry. His mind is buzzing as he tries to decide what to do once the man reaches him. Should he say something? But what could he _possibly_ say? It’s not like he wants to… He’s certainly not _going_ to...

Crystal is not plagued by Brian’s scruples. He doesn’t say anything, he just puts a hand on the man’s thigh as he passes him by and slides it up until he can hook a finger under the hem of his pants. The man instantly stops in his tracks. His impassive face is transformed by a sultry smile as he turns towards his guest.

Brian clenches his jaw and forces down the urge to march over there and slap Crystal’s greedy hands away. No, this is for the best, really. Crystal at least knows what he was doing and won’t embarrass himself.

Not that Brian was planning to do anything, anyway. He turns away and empties the rest of his cup in one go.

Just then, Madam Cavall reappears, leading two scantily clad young women by their hands. They look so much alike they could have been… oh. They probably are.

Crystal’s eyes snap to them, widening in awe as the twins sit down in his lap, one on each leg. When he is suitably distracted, the Madam puts a hand on the blond man’s arm and whispers something in his ear. He nods, puts the tray down and without speaking a word disappears through a door.

Brian can’t tell whether he is more relieved or disappointed. It would have been hell to watch Crystal seduce this beautiful man. It also would have been the most erotic sight of his life.

He prides himself on being honest with himself. He wants this man. He could probably have him if the asked. But he won’t.

He sighs and gets up. It’s probably time for him to head home. He has put in an appearance, so the General won’t feel offended. And while a quick wank on his narrow cot is a poor substitute for whatever he could have here - _gold necklaces and angel wings_ \- at least he’ll still be able to look at himself in the mirror afterwards.

He hasn’t even taken two steps towards the door before Madam Cavall appears at his side again. The Ivory House has a reputation to uphold and it won’t do to have their guest of honor leave unsatisfied and in a mood. She holds out her hand, one eyebrow raised and a small, knowing smile playing around her lips.

Brian regards her. She has wavy brown hair, dark soulful eyes and the kind of timeless hourglass figure that had always drawn his eye. Older than the other hostesses, she is probably best prepared to take care of skittish novices like him.

And although he doesn’t know much about these places, the pendant on her necklace tells him that she at least is free and has got means to leave this place of her own accord.

If she is offering, he isn’t fool enough to turn her down.

It has been a long time.

She leads him up a set of wooden stairs and through a wide hallway interspersed with small, candle-lit niches (mercifully unoccupied) until they reach a door at the very end. She steps aside and motions for him to open the door.

He looks at her, confused as to why she’s stopped. “Aren’t you…?”

The Madam tilts her head, an unreadable smile playing around her lips. “I am not what you want, Captain”, he says and opens the door for him.

A suspicion, too frightening and promising to handle, is stirring in him.

He looks between her and the doorway. Curiosity is warring with apprehension. He should just turn around and leave. Now.

But there’s nothing wrong with having a look. Just to find out what’s waiting inside. He can leave anytime. He doesn’t have to do anything.

* * *

Captain Brian May once captured a whole platoon of Kruqa'en without losing a single man through his decisive, well-planned actions. It is said that with his unflappable sense of calm under pressure and regard for his men, he can inspire his team to follow him even into even the most futile situations.

The man that is standing in the doorway, still clutching the handle and peering into the room like he is looking for a misplaced pair of glasses, wouldn’t have inspired Roger to fight as much as a mild spell of boredom.

Roger steps out of the shadows, careful to move slowly enough not to spook the man further. It’s his job to make people comfortable, and he is good at it. “Captain May”, he says simply.

“I…” The man looks back and forth between Roger and something back in the hallway. He seemed torn between coming in and turning on his heel to flee the place.

Roger purses his lips and tilts his head just enough to show his neck off a little bit better. “Won’t you come in?” He looks up at the man through his lashes, instinctively aiming for something more shy than flirtatious.

The Captain stares at him slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “I…” He closes his eyes, sets his jaw and slowly, deliberately closes the door. It's the first glimpse Roger gets of the steely Captain May he had seen on the news. “Yes. Of course.”

Roger releases the breath he didn’t realise he’s been holding. For the first time since he’d come here, Cav assigned him the night’s guest of honour. It’s a privilege - and an obligation. If he does well, it will secure his place here and keep him well away from that shithole he’d come from. If the Captain commends his services, if he asks to revisit the favours of the house because of him…

But he is getting away from himself. Right now, Roger can count himself lucky if the guy doesn’t bolt at the slightest movement.

He walks up to him, slowly, carefully, like when he’s carrying a laden tray through a crowded room. Just like he had when he’d first drawn the Captain’s eye. God, but Roger was one lucky son of a bitch. He not only got assigned the most important guest of the night but also the prettiest one. Usually, the higher-ranking guests tend to be elderly general types with jowls.

Of course, Captain May always looks handsome in the newspaper articles, but Roger knows what carefully applied make-up and some image retouching can do. But here he is, all 6’2’’ of him, and yes, his legs really are that long. Eyes that look as honest and decent as the propaganda made him out to be.

Oh well. Roger gives himself an internal smile. They’d see about decent.

Soon he is standing in front of him. The height difference is even more pronounced by the fact that Roger is barefoot and the Captain in shiny leather brogues. He blinks up at him through his lashes. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

Something strained passes over the Captain’s features, but he catches himself and nods politely. "Of course. Thank you", he says in stiff, clipped tones.

No. No, that is not good. He probably just spent a whole evening getting drinks offered, of course that’s not what he’s here for.

“Or not?” Roger meant to take things slow, but he messed up already, so screw that. He puts a hand to the Captain’s jaw and fixes his lips with his most sultry look.

It’s a gamble, a bet where he has one move and the ante is his future.

The Captain’s eyes flutter close and he swallows heavily.

Yeah, that’s it, don’t let him think, don’t let him pretend this is about drinks and conversation. With his free hand, Roger reaches for the dimmer on the wall to turn down the lights. Not that the room had been brightly lit before, but now the effect is almost like candlelight, dark and intimate.

Roger rubs his thumb along Captain May’s cheek and jaw, feeling the tensed muscles working under his skin. If he hadn’t seen the heated looks the Captain had sent him before, Roger would have thought his advances were unwelcome. He puts his other hand on the captain’s elbow, sliding it up along his arm and over his shoulders to his neck - damn, it’s like touching a statue. Only the sounds of panting breaths and the up and down of his ribcage tell Roger that there is a living, breathing and very worked up human being before him.

Quite often, with guests that are nervous and uptight, a direct, no-holds-barred approach is what works best. Roger would just sink to his knees, press his face into their crotch and wait for them to get on with the programme. He never has to wait long.

But now something makes him hesitate. This feels different.

(He tells himself it isn’t just fear of screwing up the most important night of his career.)

There are rumours about the Captain. That he hasn’t touched anyone since his lover was killed in the battle of Aratuga. That he never redeems the guest house visits he’s entitled to. Everyone seems to have their own favourite story of Captain May blowing off the prettiest girls and resisting the most irresistible advances.

Army propaganda bullshit, Roger has always (very quietly) thought to himself. But now…

He squeezes the unyielding hardness of the Captain’s sinewy shoulder lightly between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re all tensed up”, he murmurs as softly as he can while tugging the man forward. “Let me.”

Ever so slowly, he coaxes his guest away from the door and towards the couch in the centre of the room, gently massaging him all the way there. “Sit, please.” He kneels behind him and exerts a little more pressure with his fingers, deepening it into a proper massage. He keeps his hands around the shoulder and upper back area, and after a few minutes, he is rewarded by the first incremental relaxation. And then…

“What’s your name?” The Captain turns his head to look at Roger.

Roger puts on his brightest smile. “Angel.”

As soon as he got here, he’d been informed that Roger is not a suitable name for one of the big houses. And not for someone with his looks in any case.

“I’m Brian.” Captain May introduces himself with the utmost seriousness, as if he isn’t already a legend at twenty-six, his name known across the whole Southern galaxy.

“Hmm, glad to meet you, Brian.”

He works the muscles of Brian’s back and shoulders until finally a slump appears in his rigid posture.

Thank God. Roger isn’t sure how long he could have kept that up. It’s not that his hands are weak, but this guy is like a fucking brick wall. He gentles his touch into deep, long strokes that reach up to the sides of Brian’s neck and into his soft, curly hair. He opens the ponytail and caresses him softly, keeping his rhythm in time with Brian’s breathing.

When he coaxes Brian to lie back against the backrest, he follows without resistance. Roger is itching to ask Brian what he wants, but he looks like one of those men who’d rather bite off his tongue than say it out loud. So Roger would have to get a little creative. His eyes slide down Brian’s body. His spotless leather shoes don’t even look broken in yet. Getting dressed up in new shoes for his big night out.

Perfect.

Roger keeps his hands on Brian’s shoulders, lightly massaging the front parts. “Your feet must be killing you”, he coos.

Brian grimaces and nods. “More used to military boots, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Roger hums agreeably and gives Brian’s shoulders a final pat. “Let’s get you a little more comfortable then.” With one fluid movement, he sinks down on onto one knee. Brian goes very still.

Roger keeps his eyes fixed on Brian’s shoes as he puts a hand around one ankle, smoothing his thumb up and down the thin fabric of his socks. Plausible deniability all the way. This is all about shoes.

Roger tugs the laces loose and slides the shoe off with gentle, precise movements, taking all the time in the world. He moves on to the second foot, shifting his body to get a better angle and…

… and there it is, the slight opening of Brian’s knees, giving Roger more space to fit between them. Pulse soaring in triumph, Roger lifts his gaze. Brian’s expression is unmistakable: hazel eyes gone dark, two spots of colour riding high on his cheeks and teeth digging into his lower lip. Roger allows one corner of his mouth to lift in a knowing smile and doesn’t turn his eyes away as he quickly works the second shoe off.

“Better?”

“Much.” Brian flexes his toes and lets his eyes wander through the room, to the ceiling, as if desperate to look at anything but Roger, but within a few seconds, they are back on him. Like he just can’t help it.

But they don’t go to his mouth, which would have been just the signal Roger is waiting for, but a bit further down, to his… oh.

Oh, that is _good_. Roger looks down at the thin gold chain disappearing in the v of his collar, and then back up at Brian. This time Brian makes sure his eyes are anywhere but _there_ , which is just as obvious.

Roger sits back on his heels and lowers his gaze. He lets his fingers fumble just a little as he reaches for the first button of the shirt, making it look as if he is nervous too.

* * *

Brian's fingers are clutching the fabric of his trousers. The young man in front of him has his eyes lowered demurely, his lashes fanning out over his cheeks.

 _Angel_ , he called himself, and it should make sense with his golden boy looks and sweet smile. But there is something about him that doesn’t seem angelic at all. Although he appears a bit nervous, there is nothing innocent about his actions. With every gesture, he invites Brian to look his fill. Button by button he exposes more of his slim chest (and dear lord, please let him believe _that_ is what has drawn Brian’s eye), the tension ratcheted up by the slight clumsiness of his fingers.

Finally, the shirt is open and Angel reaches up to pull the shirt off his shoulders. To reveal…

“Wait!” The word tumbles out of Brian’s mouth before is even aware he is going to speak.

Angel obeys immediately, holding perfectly still, but not moving his hands away. It was a plea, not a command, but in here the difference doesn’t seem to matter.

Brian’s blood surges hot and prickly under his skin. His fingers clench even tighter. His _host_ (and how much does it go against Brian’s nature to call him something he so obviously isn’t) patiently waits while Brian tries to cram dark thoughts back into the box they had sprung from.

He clears his throat. “Just… don’t pull it off. Not completely.” What is he doing? That’s _not_ what he’s supposed to be doing. He should tell the boy to button his shirt back up and then remove himself from the situation. At once.

“Yes, Captain.” It’s just two words, closer to a whisper than a mumble, but they do _bad things_ to Brian’s imagination.

“No”, he says, surprised by how steady his voice is. He lets out a shaky, deep breath. He is called that every day of his life by men and women who entrust their lives to him. He won’t bring it into something like this.

Big blue eyes blink up at him. “What then?”

“Brian.”

“Brian.” Angel says it slowly, like he’s testing the name in his mouth. Then he nods and starts pulling his shirt open, tugging it as far to the sides as possible without having it slide off his shoulders. It's still held together by the last button on the bottom.

This time, Brian doesn’t pretend not to look. The delicate gold chain that is attached to the slim choker around Angel’s neck falls glinting between his pectorals, rising and falling gently with his breaths, before curving back up again. And that’s where Brian’s gaze is inexorably drawn, to that small gold ring that holds the end of the chain in place, pierced through the delicate flesh of his left nipple. The small nub looks slightly larger than the right one and the colour is a bit darker too.

“Did it hurt?” This time, his voice isn’t composed at all. He can hear how breathless he is.

A quick quirk of Angel’ mouth. “Like hell.”

“Does it still?” Brian tells himself he is hoping for a no.

Slowly, Angel’s eyes come up to meet his. His mouth is slightly pursed, as if he's thinking about a difficult problem. “Sometimes. Like when I wear a loose shirt and the fabric just keeps rubbing against it all night.”

Like he did tonight. Brian swallows hard. God, he is splayed open and played like a fiddle.

“Or when…” Angel cuts himself off. He bites his lip and seems to think about something. Then he shuffles forward on his knees, an awkward movement that not even he can make look gracious, but it doesn’t matter because it brings him right between Brian’s knees, his hands resting like two firebrands on the tops of his thighs. He doesn’t sit down on his heels, so his head is almost level with Brian’s. “Or when someone tugs on the chain just a little too hard.”

Brian’s ears are buzzing and his chest rising and falling even as he feels like he isn’t getting any air at all. It’s like that time when his oxygen supply was cut off during the second battle of Rhye.

He wants to. God, he wants it so much his fingers are aching with it. And this man in front of him is offering himself up, inviting Brian to give in, because he doesn’t know, _can’t_ know that Brian is not be trusted.

Brian brings one hand to the back of his neck instead, rubbing mechanically.

It has been a terrible idea, coming here. He should never have let the General talk him into joining, he should never have followed the Madam up to this room, and he certainly _should_ have turned around and stepped away from this seductive creature when he had the chance. Now it is going to be horribly difficult and awkward and he can’t even tell Angel why, so he’ll feel offended and think he’s done something wrong and… But Brian would make sure he gets paid, of course, it’s the least he can do. It’s not his fault that Brian is-

A warm hand comes to rest on Brian’s right, tugging at it just a bit. “Sometimes.” Angel’s slightly hoarse voice has gone very low and he bites his red lips before he continues. “Sometimes it’s just what I need.”

Brian’s fingers unclench of their own accord. He watches as Angel pulls his hand towards his chest until his fingers are resting right above his sternum. The thin gold chain under his fingertips is already warm from Angel’s skin.

Angel keeps his hand on Brian’s for another moment, pressing down just a little bit before he lets go and then, oh dear lord, and then he puts both his hands behind his back. Inviting Brian to do whatever he wants. Putting himself at his mercy.

Brian swallows hard, wets his parched lips with his tongue.

He really, really shouldn’t do this. It goes against everything he believes in. Against everything he wants to be.

He slides his fingers up to the start of the chain, just below the ring around Roger’s neck. He can feel the notch above his collarbone deepening with every indrawn breath. He follows the path of the chain down Angel’s chest. The contrast of the hard metal against soft skin has his cock twitching in his trousers. He doesn’t even know why it gets to him like that.

The chain loops to the left, curving upwards to the small gold ring it is attached to. Apart from his breathing, Angel doesn’t move a muscle as Brian follows its path.

He pauses just before he reaches the ring.

Angel cocks his head slightly, looks up at him from under his lashes so his eyes look even bigger than they already are. “Please?” It’s a high, breathless plea, that goes directly to Brian’s cock. It’s an act, of course it is, this man doesn’t truly want him to do this. Brian is not that naive.

Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ to believe it.

“Tell me your name”, he says. “Your real name.” He has no idea why. It shouldn’t matter, it’s not like this is going to make this real, like it’s going to put them on equal footing.

“Sure?” Angel quirks one eyebrow and for a moment Brian thinks he gets a glimpse of the real person, the part that’s not a calculated to be a walking wet dream. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Brian’s is brought down to earth a bit as his mind throws the most ridiculous names at him. _Herman. Ghengis. Fly-fornication_. He smiles and taps his fingers lightly against Angel's chest. “I’ll risk it.”

“Roger.” He leans in a bit and lowers his voice. “Don’t rat me out to the Madam. I’m not actually allowed to tell.” He looks inordinately pleased with this little transgression.

Roger. Such a normal, common name. Unfitting only in that this is no normal, common man kneeling in front of him. Asking him to touch him. _Because that is his job_ , Brian reminds himself. _A job he’s chosen only because it gives him the best chance at survival_.

“Of course not.” Brian is proud at this little secret Roger is sharing with him. Or is that all part of the act too? It must be. He deflates a bit as he thinks about how many other guests would have asked Roger that same question. It’s all a fantasy. Some like the original one, presented by his cherubic smile and innocent white dress. Then there are those like him, who like to imagine they have some real connection, that they are not like the others.

_Don’t turn this into something it’s not. He is not doing this because he wants you or even likes you._

Roger shifts a little on his knees. He’s been in this posture for a while, it can’t be comfortable.

Brian wonders how long he can make him hold it.

He bites the insides of his cheeks so hard he can taste blood. No. Don’t even think of going there. It would be just like him, to dither and procrastinate, to draw it out, to pretend he doesn’t even notice what he’s doing even while he’s growing hard as a rock in his trousers. To think up all sorts of mean little things that he can rationalise as “well, at least I didn’t touch him” even as he tosses off to the memory for weeks to come.

No. He won’t punish Roger because he’s too much of a coward to make up his damned mind.

Oh god. Is he honestly trying to tell himself that he is doing Roger _a favour_ if he uses him to play out his fantasies? There is probably a very special hell reserved for people just like him.

And Roger is still looking at him, patiently waiting for him to do whatever he chooses. To be whatever he desires. At least for tonight.

He swipes his thumb over Roger’s nipple.

Roger’s gasp must be due more to surprise than the sensation itself, because it was so fast and light he can’t have felt much. Brian does it again, a bit more deliberate and this time his thumb catches on the ring.

_Don’t you dare pretend it was by accident._

He presses with his thumb, then adds one finger and pinches the nipple slightly.

Roger sucks in his lower lip between his teeth, eyes falling shut.

It’s an act, it’s _all_ an act, Brian desperately reminds himself.

He pinches just lightly for a second, before letting go and sliding his thumb and forefinger along the ring and over the chain, tugging just the slightest bit.

The small hairs on Roger’s chest and arms stand on end. Can you _act_ that?

Holding the chain lightly between his fingers, Brian raises his free hand to Roger’s cheek. Immediately, he presses his face into it, releasing his lip so his mouth falls open. So inviting.

Brian leans in before he knows what he’s doing and catches himself just inches before he makes contact. He can feel Roger’s breath on his lips and all he wants to do is lean forward and close the gap, but there’s something at the back of his mind, something reminding him that of all the things he’s free to do, this one might be taboo. He heard that somewhere. Or just saw it in a movie?

“Is that,” he manages to ask before his voice gives out. He clears his throat. “I mean can I...”

Roger’s eyes blink open, heavy-lidded deep pools of blue. “Anything”, he whispers.

The word triggers a cascade of fantasies, all the things that Brian will _not_ do to him.

Not all of them anyway.

But he can’t resist tugging him forward by the chain, revelling in the slight widening of Roger's eyes, before he leans forward. Brian swallows his gasp as soft lips meet his own, tasting faintly of vanilla. Another ingredient to that ridiculous angel disguise. Brian licks off the offending taste until all that is left is Roger’s skin.

He slides a hand into his hair, which is slightly sticky with product, and angles his head so he can lick deep inside. He’s denied himself a taste of this for so long it feels like he’s starving for it. And Roger is so good for him, reacting beautifully to every push of his tongue, every tightening of his fingers.

Suddenly, hands are digging into the tops of his thighs, thumbs stroking along the crease of his hips. “Let me”, Roger whispers against his lips. “Please.”

Brian squeezes his eyes shut at as the wave of lust that surges through makes his erection press even more tightly against his trousers. The chain slips from his hand and he nods. As practised fingers work his fly open, he can’t help the sigh of relief as the pressure eases. His cock is pulled out of his briefs and held lightly in Roger’s hand.

Roger pulls back a little and sits back on his haunches, his eyes never leaving Brian’s face. Looking for signs of disapproval, probably. How could Brian disapprove when he’s kneeling at his feet, holding his cock in his hand, his lips reddened and shiny from kissing?

Still, when he starts leaning forward, Brian stops him with a shake of his head. He has to think for a minute before he remembers why he did such a stupid thing. “Take off your shirt”, he says. Now he wants to see everything.

Roger complies without question. He undoes the last two buttons still holding the shirt closed at the front and shrugs it off. Brian’s gaze is caught by the glint of the chain again, by the dusty left nipple that is now decidedly puffier than the right. But this time his gaze trails lower, over a flat but soft belly, down a light dusting of hair to the plain white paints. Except they are not plain at all.

There is a zipper running down the front. And either Roger is supremely well endowed or the pants are either padded... _or_ Roger is actually enjoying what they are doing. He remembers the wings printed over the backside too, how could he have forgotten? He should get Roger to stand up and show him again, and then Brian could see how well his hands fit against his backside, or maybe have him lie over his lap so he can rub his fingers all over the pattern or maybe give him just a little slap, just enough to hear Roger gasp again and then-

Roger leans forward a bit and puts one hand on Brian's knee, cutting off his feverish fantasies. He runs his hand up Brian’s thigh and shuffles forward a bit, lowering his gaze. The sight of that beautiful man, almost naked and on his knees for him, eyes fixed on his cock like it’s his favourite sight on earth has him desperate. He watches transfixed as Roger’s face comes nearer, his lips fallen open like he just can’t wait for it.

“Do it”, Brian says, voice gone deep and gravelly.

Which is of course when Roger stops.

Innocent eyes blink up at him. “Make me”, he says.

Brian’s hand closes around the chain and this time there is nothing hesitant about it when he pulls Roger forward and down.

Roger’s face contorts with pain and, but he leans forward beautifully and sinks down on his cock. The sudden onslaught of sensation takes Brian’s breath away. It’s hot and slick and Roger just takes it all in, no hesitance, no stopping, until his nose is pressed into Brian’s abdomen. He swallows around the head and Brian had no idea people could actually do that, or that it would feel like the tightest, most intimate massage of his life. His eyes roll back in his head as he drowns in it.

His fingers being squeezed brings him back into the here and now. His fingers, which are locked tightly around the chain. The chain connected to Roger’s piercing, the chain that he is still pulling down so hard it is stretched taught.

He lets go and Roger comes up coughing. Tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes and his shoulders are shaking as he draws in quick sharp breaths. Brian reaches out to wipe a trail of spit running down from the corning of his mouth and Roger immediately turns his head to suck the fingers into his mouth even as he's still gasping for breath. Brian allows it for a minute, but then he slides his hand around to Roger’s neck to pull him forward again.

It’s not like Roger needs direction, he knows exactly what he’s doing. So Brian focuses on touching his hair, the corners of his mouth stretched tight around his cock, the hollow of his cheeks as he sucks him deep. Then down, along his neck, until it reaches the slim gold band of the choker. It’s just loose enough that Brian can fit the tips of his fingers under it. When Roger swallows again, he feels it inside and out.

This is not going to take long. He is being taken apart by every trick in the book. He briefly mourns all the things he not going to get to do, but this feels too good to stop. He can already feel everything drawing so tightly together, winding him up and up and up. His hand slides further down until he reaches the ring again. He flicks it up and down rapidly and Roger repeats the rhythm with the flutter of his tongue against the head of his cock.

Brian uses his second hand to reach for the right nipple, the one he’s neglected all night, and rolls it between his fingers. Roger moans at that and the sound and the vibrations have Brian seeing stars. He is close, so close. He loops the chain around his fingers a couple of times, just enjoying the smooth slide of the metal, then tightens his grip so Roger is forced to take him in deep again.

When he looks down, sweat is beading on Roger’s forehead, his long lashes are glittering with tears and his mouth is stretched tightly around Brian’s cock. His eyes are screwed shut, forehead creased with effort. Brian locks his eyes on the sight, because he knows he won’t have long to enjoy it. His entire body is shaking as his release builds from his toes up, from his scalp down, his hips moving in small thrusts.

He gives Roger a bit of slack, then stretches the chain tight again, mirroring the rhythm he’s setting with his hips. Roger matches it beautifully, letting his mouth be used as Brian sees fit. Brian presses his thumbs into Roger’s abused nipples only to see the frown appear on his forehead, hear his muffled groan and it’s enough to send him over the edge, sobbing his release.

His cock has barely stopped twitching when Brian realises what he’s done. He sits back and stares in disbelief at Roger still kneeling at his feet, his face a glistening mess of tears, spit and come, pressing the heel of one hand against his piercing.

“Have I hurt you?” Stupid, stupid question, of course he has, _look at him!_ Oh god, has he torn the piercing? He fights the urge to slap Roger’s hand away to see if there’s any blood. “Roger?” 

Roger shakes his head and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Of course not”, he says with a faint smile. At the hoarseness of his voice, Brian’s dick gives a pathetic twitch.

No. He won’t get a special place in hell. He’ll get his own private circle.

* * *

Roger has a number of tactics for getting him through his day.

Imagining what he will do once he paid off his debt is a nice one. In here, with people paying up to 10.000 credit for a visit – plus tips – he will actually have a chance of doing that before he’s too old to enjoy his freedom.

But if it all gets too much, the pain, the humiliation, the pressure to act as if he actually enjoys begging some odious little tit to fuck him harder, faster?

Imagine the alternative. Imagine working your fingers to bloody stubs in the titanium mines, or being used as a guinea pig to test the habitability of some new planet they discovered. Imagine working not in the foremost guest house on all planet Earth – a place where the rules about how far guests are allowed to go are actually enforced – but in one of the countless backwater brothels that are visited by troops of mercenaries who only know how to inflict pain.

And he knows that if it gets too bad, if the shame and the resentment threaten to overwhelm him, his mind will eventually drift off, leaving his body to bear the brunt of it. The first time it happened he’d been scared that he was actually dying, but when he’d come back, sore and sticky and with his back a mess of welts and bruises, he realised that it was the opposite. This was surviving.

But his favourite tactic, the one that he always tries first? Trying to get into it as much as possible. He’s not a very good actor, but luckily most people don’t need much convincing when he’s playing a role they want to see. It hadn’t been easy to get excited about having sex that he has little say in, and especially not about this fallen angel act that for some reason the Madam insists on. But had it become easier with time. Especially since he learned that he could subtly steer most guests in a direction to his liking.

Captain May had been so obvious, it was like steering a particularly well-trained seal. Roger doesn’t particularly enjoy being made to choke on someone’s cock, but the fact that _he’d been right_ , that he had made this tightly controlled man give into his desires within ten minutes of setting foot into the room, that is something he relishes. He is _good_ at this. It hadn’t been difficult to keep his own cock interested in the proceedings with an occasional tug of his hand.

What he hadn’t anticipated in his self-satisfied triumph is that after, the Captain would look like he is about to jump out a window. Which is the last thing Roger needs. He needs his guests to leave glowing and feeling good about themselves (and coughing up enormous tips).

It’s ridiculous. Brian hasn’t done anything particularly bad. Especially not compared to many of the guests that had come before. A bit of intense nipple stim, a not exactly gentle blow-job, some being ordered about by a polite voice? In fact, Brian’s obvious reluctance, the fact that Roger had to push and prod him into doing all this, had even made it a bit exciting.

But now Brian is sitting on the sofa, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Roger has to come up with something fast. Something to make him feel good about himself.

Brian looks away from the hand with which Roger is soothing his smarting nipples and lowers his gaze, like he’s too ashamed to even look at him. But then his eyes catch on the bulge in Roger’s pants. 

Yes. Yes of course.

Roger reaches down to cup himself through his pants. That damned zipper is a literal pain, but he’s learned to live with it. “Wanna do something for me?”

Brian blinks up to meet his eyes. “Would... would you like that?” As if he can hardly believe that Roger might want to get off too.

Granted it can be a nuisance when guests insist on it, especially when he’s expected to get off on their very specific kinks. But in this case, it shouldn’t be much of a problem.

Slowly, with a slight grin on his face, Roger gets up. It’s meant to be seductive, but after having knelt for so long, his knees won’t allow for anything faster anyway. When he’s finally upright, his crotch is almost level with Brian’s face. He makes sure to stand back far enough that the invitation isn’t quite as blatant, in case Brian would rather use his hands. Or have Roger wank himself, that’s also an option.

His eyes flicker up to Roger’s piercing. But he doesn’t reach for it or pull him closer. “I’m sorry”, he whispers instead. “I really shouldn’t have...” His face crumples.

Shit. Shit, bugger, bollocks, damn it all to hell!

He reaches out and puts a hand in Brian’s hair. “Hey”, he says. Please don’t start crying, he begs silently. “Hey, it’s alright.”

Brian just shakes his head, lips pressed together into a thin white line. Roger knows he’s got seconds before his chance of fixing this is gone. He thinks frantically of ways to reassure him, to tell him that he’s a good man and that...

But then Captain May is being told he’s a good man every day of his life. It is screamed at him from magazine covers, news reports and the medals pinned to his uniform. Maybe that’s not what he needs to hear.

Roger’s heart rate speeds up as he leans down, propping himself up with one hand against the backrest. He only stops when his face is close enough to Brian’s ear that his hair his tickling his nose.

“Have you been a bad man, Captain May?”

One second. Two.

Roger's pulse is pounding in his ears as he waits for the reaction. It might be just the invitation Brian needs to turn his anger on Roger instead of himself. It’s a risk. A gamble.

But then gambling is what he does. What got him here in the first place. Even with his future dangling by a thread, he can’t help but enjoy the rush of not knowing, the thrill of betting everything on a losing hand.

With a shuddering sigh, Brian lets his forehead sink against Roger’s hip.

Triumph courses through his veins, lifting him higher and higher. There’s nothing like betting everything on a losing hand _and winning_.

He cards his fingers carefully through Brian’s soft curls, trying not to get ahead of himself. It’s not often that he gets to do this sort of thing. “Angel” usually attracts a different sort of crowd. Mistress Beatrice sometimes talks about the complexity, the nuance of the scenes she sets up, how much tact and empathy is needed to make it work. How one wrong word or a touch at the wrong time can send everything into a tailspin.

It all sounds terribly complicated. But there’s no need to overthink things.

Roger keeps the exact same tone as he asks. “Want to make it up to me now?”

He can feel Brian nod.

“Sit back.”

When Brian complies, Roger steps out from between his legs and kneels on the sofa so that he is straddling Brian. His knees protest against being brought into that position again, but it won’t be for long. He tightens his grip on the hair and tugs until Brian’s face is tilted up towards him. Reluctantly, Brian’s eyes follow. There’s a pleading expression in them, like he’s asking for something only Roger can give him. Luckily, Roger has a very practical idea for how he can make amends.

“My tits are hurting like a bitch”, Roger says, feeling no need to keep up Angel’s demure speaking style and voice. Judging from the way Brian’s cheeks heat up, that’s just fine with him. Roger lets his lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Kiss them better?” Okay, maybe there was a bit of Angel in that.

Brian’s mouth falls open as his eyes zero in on Roger’s nipples. His gaze flicks back up like he can’t quite believe his luck. “Go on.” Roger adds a little pressure with his hand to the back of Brian’s head.

It’s all that is needed. Brian leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against the nipple on his right. Then he moves to the other side, the one that has born the brunt of his attentions. Another kiss, then a flick of his tongue. Roger hisses at the stimulation.

“Sorry”, Brian murmurs and blows cool, soothing air over it.

It actually feels amazing. And from the way that Brian’s dick is already growing a little thicker between his legs, this is getting Brian’s mood up as well. Roger is a fucking genius.

Sure enough, Brian takes his nipple into his mouth, along with the ring and part of the chain and lavishes it with the softest touches of his slick, wet tongue. The metal clicks against his teeth and Roger can feel Brian shiver.

It’s not soothing. Not even in the slightest.

But Brian gets to pretend he is doing this to comfort Roger, and Roger gets so turned on that he’s going to have the zipper imprinted on his dick if he doesn’t get out of those bloody pants soon. He lets Brian kiss him better just a little longer, using this rare opportunity to just let himself fall into sensation and fantasise about all the things he might do next.

Finally, when he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin with unresolved tension, he pulls Brian back by his hair. “Now look what you’ve done”, he says and presses his rock hard cock into Brian’s stomach. “That’s not exactly making it better now, is it?”

Brian’s lips move as he’s trying to come up with an answer. It’s an endearing, pouty look, so at odds with the cold commandeering captain. Oh, why the hell not, Roger thinks and leans in. It’s not what he’s planned, but Brian’s a good kisser, especially now that he’s so eager to please.

“Do you want to do something about it”, he asks against Brian’s lips. Brian nods and slides his hand along Roger’s hips, cupping him through his pants. Roger has to bite his lips to keep the embarrassing whimper inside. God, he hasn’t been this turned on in ages. “Feels good”, he murmurs as Brian runs his fingers along the length. Once he’s reached the top, he slides down the zipper and Roger’s cock finally springs free. He enjoys the feeling of long-fingered hands on him for a minute. Then he tugs Brian’s head back a little and presses a thumb against his lower lip. “I bet _that_ would feel even better.”

Brian is already nodding before Roger’s even finished speaking. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

He looks so eager, so serious, so fucking turned on by the idea, that Roger’s mind immediately goes one step further. _Dangerous_ , the rational part of him warns. This is going exceptionally well. There is no reason to push his luck.

And this is not about him. This is about making sure a guest walks out of here already planning his return visit. But he’s got this feeling, this _inkling_ , that taking this a little bit further might be just what Captain May needs.

Also, he hasn’t properly fucked a guy in ages.

He moves his hand, grabs Brian’s chin none-too-gently and leans in again. “You’re not getting away so easily”, he growls and the harsh exhale of breath that follows his words lets him know he’s right, he’s exactly right about this.

Roger gets up quickly, suppressing a wince as his knees creak, and takes a step back. “Kneel on the sofa, hands on the backrest”, he says.

Brian automatically starts to take his trousers and pants off and Roger swats his hip. “Didn’t say anything about that, did I”, he barks. There’s no way he’s looking very authoritative right now with his puffy nipples and half-hard cock hanging out of these stupid angel wing pants, but Brian immediately lets off.

It gives Roger time to pick up some lube from the bowl on the side table. He turns back to see Brian staring at him over his shoulder. He’s got a look on his face like a kicked puppy, wide eyes imploring him to… to do what? To absolve him? To tell him what a good boy he is?

If that’s what he wants he’s going to have to work for it.

Roger tosses the lube onto the sofa and puts a hand on Brian’s arse, letting it rest there for a moment. He’s skinny, and what little meat there is on him is muscle and sinew. He drums his fingers against the skin, thinking about how he’s going to proceed. When Brian lets his head hang down between his arms, he knows.

Roger raises his hand and plants a hard smack right on the middle of Brian’s left buttock. Brian’s head flies up, eyes screwed shut and teeth digging into his lower lip. He hits him again, on that exact same spot and Brian’s gasp brings a smile to Roger’s lips. He can still taste Brian’s come in his mouth, feel the soreness in his throat. Another smack, so hard his palm stings, so hard the chain slaps against his chest.

And another.

He drinks in Brian’s gasps, the way he clenches his jaw and seems prepared to just take whatever Roger decides to dole out.

He pauses, one hand resting lightly on Brian’s reddened flesh. It’s hot to the touch and Roger has to work to keep himself from drawing his fingernails over it. But he can’t allow himself to lose himself in it. “How many do you deserve”, he asks.

 _As many as you can deliver until your arm gives out_ , Roger’s overeager imagination supplies.

Brian just shakes his head. But that won’t do.

Roger puts his free hand in Brian’s hair and pulls his head back as far as it will go, until the tendons in his neck stand out and his mouth falls open. “You will give me a number.” He says it quietly, impatience bubbling just underneath the calm veneer. He leaves the _I will take your skin off if you don’t_ implied.

“15”, Brian whispers.

Roger nods and gets into position behind him. “Let’s make it twenty”, he says conversationally as his hand comes down.

Brian groans, if from his words or the impact Roger can’t say. It’s not like it matters. The sounds of his palm smacking into Brian’s arse, Brian’s wordless whines, the way he can feel his body rocking forward with each spank - it flows hot and cold under Roger's skin, spurring him on, making him let loose.

Brian is sweating, shaking, the muscles in his back standing out. He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying this at all. _Good_ , is all Roger can think as he counts out the smacks. _He_ is, which should be enough.

Tears are freely running down Brian’s cheeks during the last strikes. The sight is so good Roger immediately wants to give him another twenty. He’s in no doubt anymore that Brian would let him.

He steps a little closer, already raising his arm to rain down punishment, but then his cock comes into contact with Brian’s thigh and it’s then that he realises he is so hard it feels like he's about to burst. It’s like a circuit has been connected and suddenly his blood is buzzing with electricity.

He lets go of Brian’s hair and picks up the sachet of lube. When his fingers are coated, he pushes his thumb between his arse cheeks and presses it against his rim, circling slightly. “How many do you deserve”, he asks again.

“Fuck”, Brian shakes his head and breathes hard.

Roger doesn’t say anything. He’ll give him five more seconds. If he hasn’t come up with an answer, he’ll get none. If Roger can deal with it, so can he.

When Brian finally chokes out a gravelly “two”, Roger can’t tell if he’s proud that Brian obeyed him or disappointed that he won’t get to fuck him right then and there.

Two is exactly what he gets, practised fingers prepping him with ruthless efficiently. Roger isn’t a patient man at the best of times and he’s not in a generous mood. Should have said four if he wanted anything else.

He pulls out and steps behind Brian, who is holding perfectly still for him. The only problem is that he’s slightly too tall like that. Roger is not going to do this balancing on his toes. He flicks his fingers against the insides of Brian’s thighs. “Spread them.”

Brian shuffles his legs apart as far as the trousers around his knees will allow and it brings him down just low enough that Roger can line up. He doesn’t know exactly why this turns him on as much as it does, but seeing Brian working to spread his long legs out as far as they can go within their constriction has something dark and angry rattling on the bars of its cage deep inside him.

When he presses his cock against Brian’s hole, he pauses for a moment, stilling completely. The only sound in the air is that of their breathing, Brian’s fast and flat, Roger’s harsh and deep. The control that he has at that moment is coursing through him like a powerful drug.

He grips Brian’s shoulder with one hand, his hip with the other as he pushes in. Brian’s fingers dig into the upholstery, but he doesn’t make a sound, even as his breathing comes to a halt. He is painfully tight around Roger, obviously not used to it. Roger forces himself to pause although everything in him screams to push in and take what he wants. But fucking Brian hard is one thing, injuring him another, and there are still some working brain cells left in him that tell him he is not that kind of person. And also that he’ll find himself digging up dirt in the mines if he takes it too far.

When it feels like his hips are about to cramp if he doesn’t move _now_ , Roger gives a small but sharp thrust, slapping Brian’s arse at the same time. It forces a harsh breath out of Brian, mingled with something close to a sob. It winds Roger up even higher and his hand automatically goes into Brian’s hair, gripping the thick curls like a vice. He leans forward as he slides in that little bit deeper, the burning friction making it hard for him to think of anything else. “You’ll take it all”, he growls as he pushes in those last few inches.

Amazingly, he can feel Brian nod, hair winding even tighter around his fingers.

“You’ll take exactly what I decide to give you.” He pulls out a little and snaps his hips forwards in a vicious little thrust that has Brian moaning.

As he straightens himself up, the chain gets caught between his arm and Brian’s back. A sharp, stabbing pain rolls through him, and with it rage. Pure, white-hot rage. This is all just a game for Brian, a diversion, even the unpleasant bits just part of the entertainment. But it’s not a game for Roger. It is every single day.

He sets a rhythm, as brutal and relentless as his days in here. Every thrust forces a groan out of Brian, and every groan out of Brian is a little piece of penance that he drinks up.

He imagines pulling out and having Brian turn around, having him choke on his cock until the capillaries in his eyes crack.

He imagines digging his fingernails into the skin of Brian’s back and drawing them across it with such force that the blood drips onto the sofa.

He imagines opening his choker and putting it around Brian’s neck. He’s slim, it might just fit. It might sit just a little too tight.

He imagines taking out the ring and driving the blunt tip into Brian’s flesh.

Clinging to a last thread of sanity, he reaches around and finds Brian cock hard and leaking underneath him. So he gets off on what is supposed to be atonement. Roger can’t tell whether he’s more angry or elated that at. He wants to gloat and tell Brian exactly what a cunning little slut he is, tricking him like this, but instead, he clamps his mouth down hard on Brian’s shoulder and drives his teeth into the tense flesh. He wanks Brian hard, not leaving him any choice but to come with a shout while Roger is still driving into him with everything he’s got. He can feel Brian clenching around him, feels every pulse of his release.

He slows down for a moment to relish in the sensation. And then he keeps going.

Brian shakes his head. “Too much”, he chokes out.

Roger lifts his head and grins although Brian doesn’t even look at him. “Everything I decide to give you”, he repeats and grabs Brian’s hips with both hands. _It might even be forgiveness_ , he thinks as pulls him back in time with a hard thrust that has Brian shouting.

He doesn’t hold back as he pounds into him, selfishly seeking his own release. Brian should thank him for that, the thinks deliriously as the tension starts building inside him, because it means he’ll be done soon. He soaks in the image before him, Captain Brian May, squeaky clean hero of the free world, on his hands and knees before him, taking everything Roger dishes out. That - more than the sweet hot pressure on his cock, or Brian’s low, keening moans - is what drives him over the edge, the knowledge that right now he can do exactly what he wants. He can take, he can hurt, he can heal, he can punish or praise.

When he gets to that point where everything is drawn so tight he can barely stand it, he pushes in as deep as he can and plasters his chest, his face into Brian’s back. He feels his muscles tremble with the effort of keeping them both up, tastes the sweat pooled between his shoulder blades, drowns in his shuddering breaths. Roger is in him and around him and right then, in that moment where pleasure explodes sharp and bright inside him, he is his entire world.

After, Roger finds himself sitting on the floor, one arm curled around Brian’s chest, the other petting his hair. Brian is lying there, facing the backrest. He’s sobbing, loud and shaking, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

“Shh, it’s alright”, Roger mumbles.

Brian shakes his head, and Roger drops a little kiss to his shoulder before he has time to think about what he’s doing. “It is”, he says. “It’s all good.”

On some level, Roger is aware that having Brian walking out of here wrecked and in tears is the worst possible outcome and he better make sure he calms down. But there’s more than that. He finds the rage and contempt that had been flooding his system just minutes earlier evaporated. He finds himself _wanting_ to take care of him.

“You took it so well”, he whispers and feels some of the tension draining away from Brian. “You’re alright.” With every slow stroke of his hand, he can feel the sobs levelling out, Brian’s breathing getting calmer.

And with every bit of tension that Brian lets go, Roger can feel himself unwind. He lets himself sink into the settling rhythm of Brian’s breathing.

It’s going to be alright.

* * *

“Are we going to see you again then, Captain May?” Madame Cavall herself has taken on the task of seeing him off.

Brian hums non-committally as he swipes his finger down the 10-star rating of the host evaluation sheet. It feels like an additional indignity that he should reduce Roger to numbers like that, but it can’t be helped.

No, he certainly won’t be back. His conviction about the general immorality of participating in this system has only grown stronger. He lets his eyes stray down the long corridor to the parlour, then to the stairs that lead up to the next floor. Roger is up there somewhere, hopefully not being expected to entertain anyone else for the night. The thought alone is enough to turn Brian’s stomach.

For a second he thinks he sees a movement up there, hopes for a blond head to appear again. Just one last glance. But it must have been his eyes playing tricks on him.

Because he won’t be back. It’s wrong. All those thoughts about how much worse Roger and the others would have it if they didn’t have this option, it’s all just excuses for people who benefit from it. People like him.

He’s learned his lesson.

He swallows his distaste and asks Madame Cavall about tipping.

She smiles contentedly and shows him a card reader. “Well, if you do, feel free to call ahead so we can make sure your preferred host”, she raises one perfectly styled eyebrow, “ _whoever they may be_ , is free that night.” She takes an old-fashioned business card out of a leather etui and puts it pointedly onto the registration desk in front of him.

Brian ignores it and instead focuses on clearing out his bank account.

Madame Cavall pretends not to have noticed the sum or the rating, but she is positively purring as she brings him his coat.

It’s the least he can do for Roger, he thinks as he puts on his coat. He takes another look down the hallway. Just one last look before he leaves this place, never to return.

But there is nothing.

Madam Cavall opens the front door. A cold gust of wind invites him outside, back into the real world.

As he takes the first step, he impulsively reaches out and pockets the business card.

He nods at the Madam as the steps outside into the clear night.

Just a souvenir. A reminder of this night when he sunk so low and soared so high.

Because he won’t be back.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this entire fic was inspired by the existence of these pants:  
> 
> 
> This is the closest I've found for Roger's nipple chain. Only he has got only one piercing (I have a whole headcanon for what the different sides and metals mean) and the chain is connected to a gold choker around his neck. Oh, and he's got a nipple ring, not a barbell. So it's not much like this pic at all, I guess xD  
> 


End file.
